


You can have Manhattan

by Maura_Moo



Series: Newsies tumblr fic dump [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst and Fluff, Artist Jack Kelly, Bisexual David Jacobs, Bisexual Jack Kelly, Bisexual Male Character, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly-centric, David is a good son, Depressed Jack, Esther is the best mother, Javey - Freeform, M/M, Manhattan, Mild Blood, More angst, New York, Sad David Jacobs, Santa Fe, Slightly - Freeform, Song fic, Star Gazing, Trains, description based, javid - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maura_Moo/pseuds/Maura_Moo
Summary: Davey doesn’t want Manhattan.Davey wants Jack.Right?
Relationships: David Jacobs & Esther Jacobs, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Series: Newsies tumblr fic dump [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168985
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	You can have Manhattan

The wind is almost too warm for the chill in Jack’s heart as he stands in the middle of Grand Central station, a one-way ticket to Santa Fe pressed snugly between his fingers.

Mid-July sun beats down on his face, staining it with the red glow of faux joy. He should be happy; he’s not going to be a dreamer anymore. But his mind is stuck, running lines of a letter he shouldn’t have written. They still tingle on his tongue, unshed and unspoken, scrawled against crumpled paper in blunt pencil.

He remembers tossing it through Davey’s open bedroom window, long before the taller man would have come home from his late morning classes. It had floated and twirled like dandelion seeds before landing half-hidden under his bed.

Jack remembers everything in Davey’s bedroom. The freshly made bed, the clean desk overflowing with notebooks, sticky notes plastered on a wide board in front of it, nailed on to the wall. Jack remembers the feeling of his carpet between his toes and the feeling of his soft sheets between his fingers. It makes his fingers ache and Jack wishes to punch the wall behind him; just hard enough to make the phantom feeling stop.

He remembers everything about Davey. His conscience brings him to the front of his mind; slowly at first and in pieces; like Davey is an unfinished puzzle and Jack is collecting the lost bits and shifting them to fit in places that line up like the scars on his arms. Part of Jack wishes to reach out and wrap his arms weakly around David’s frame, to drop the ticket and watch it fly away in the wind like a lost balloon. But the other wants to break Davey into bite-sized chunks, so he doesn’t haunt his memories.

Instead of Davey, he thinks of the letter. Of the words clawed out in his messy handwriting, how the letters fall sideways as if dying, looping G’s being nooses for elongated M’s and D’s. The paper slightly torn in the corner and his name stained with the ghost of rain-like tears. He remembers every letter and sentence he wrote and they stain Davey’s skin.

“David? My lamb?” His mother’s voice was the first thing that Davey heard when he came home from school. He carefully kicks off his shoes and wanders into the kitchen. The air, normally so full of joy and the smell of freshly baked bread, sits still and cold. It buzzes through Davey’s lungs as he takes a seat across from his mother. Her cheeks are wet and there’s a crumpled sheet of paper between her worn hands. “I found this in your room today.”

Davey blinks a few times, confused. “It must just be part of my homework mama-” The shake of his mothers head makes him lean forwards, head tilted in confusion.

“It’s not your handwriting darling. I’ll leave you to read it, sweetheart.” She stands, her old bones creaking. Davey listens to his mother’s footsteps come close and her lips press against his temple before her footfall falls away.

He sits for a few seconds, alone with the sheet of paper, faced down in the tablecloth. It feels like hours tick by before David takes the paper between his fingers and begins to read.

**You can have Manhattan**   
**The one we used to share**

“Davey! Dave! Davey Dave! Dave! Dave! Da-”

“What Jack?” He squeaks out, eyes flicking temporarily up from his book. The wind brushes carefully against Davey’s hair as he reads under the stars. Jack’s head rests peacefully in his lap, eyes shimmering so bright they put the moon to shame.

“What’s that constellation?” Jack asks, pointing at the collection of stars. There’s silence as Davey flicks through the pages of the notebook beside him, resting just out of Jack’s paint-stained reach. Jack blinks at his lover’s face, a softness in his eyes that Davey isn’t really used to yet.

“Cassiopeia. The queen,” Davey points, squinting at the dimmer stars across from the one that Jack is staring so hopefully at. “That one, it’s a little dim; It’s Cepheus the king. They were in love. Well…” Davey shrugs half-heartedly, closing his book and laying back against the cold metal of the penthouse. “Cassiopeia annoyed Poseidon by saying that she was more beautiful than his wife and all ten of his daughters-”

Jack listens to Davey ramble on, his head resting against his chest. He had heard the story so many times that Jack was sure he could tell it in his sleep. But the way that Davey’s eyes shimmered with happiness and the way his face exploded into a smile so soft that it could melt the coldest winters made the repetition worth it.

“So’s they’re stuck up there? Jus’ togedda? Alls alone?” Jack asks, rolling to lay on his side.

“No.” Dave’s voice is soft, lulling with sleep. His eyes flit away from the sky, tracing Jack’s features in the grey moonlight. “Jus’ because they can’t touch, doesn’t mean they’re alone. True love knows no boundaries.” The words fall like shooting stars from David’s tired lips and they sting in Jack’s ears as he falls asleep in his arms.

**The one where we were laughing**   
**And drunk on just being there**

The morning bell drags Jack out of his restless sleep. His eyes open groggily and he pushes himself into a sitting position, careful not to startle Davey, lying asleep next to him. His joints click when he stretches and the satisfying cracks are soon joined by Davey’s tired grumbles.

“Mornin Davey.”

“Morning Jack.”

Davey surveys the early morning sun, his head tilted towards the warm fall waves. Jack watches a fond smile on his tired features. The way the sun hits Davey’s face gives it a sketched out look. Like he had been stolen out of a picture book Jack remembers his mom reading to him as a child and placed in the middle of Manhattan and right by his side.

They get dressed in silence and hover behind the other newsies. Whispering to each other. They talk about the sun, the beauty of the sunset and they laugh when one of them steals a soft kiss on the cheek. Davey laughs, rolling his eyes playfully when Jack flirts with a girl to sell a paper.

Jack chuckles so hard his chest aches when Davey sneezes hard enough to give himself a nosebleed, scaring a few children who were sitting in a tree. They scream at the first sight of blood and scamper back to their parents, voices shrill.

They sprint through people-filled streets, dodging couples and businessmen. Laughter gives away their location as they run, using back streets and alleyways as secret hiding places to stop and steal chase kisses under the setting sun.

They end up in the theatre, shoulders pressed together and breath tired as they rest against the plush chairs. The light neon lights highlight the features that the other didn’t like; the scar on Jack’s chin, the dents in the corners of Davey’s eyes.

The shimmer of unallowed love clear in both their eyes. Flitting like dying candle flames.

**Hang on to the reverie**   
**Could you do that for me**   
**‘Cause I’m just too sad to**

“I can’t do this anymore Jack.” There’s a certain uncertainty to Davey’s voice as he drops the paint cans by Jack’s feet. He stares down at them, eyes tracing over the letters, hidden by the layers of dried paint. Jack doesn’t look over at him, his eyes stay on the backdrop in front of him and his hand keeps moving in a painfully slow up and down motion.

Jack turns his head to face in Dave’s direction, his eyes still staring at the backdrop, brush twirling on the little details like a dancer. “If ya tired Dave, go sit down. I gotta get this done.”

“No!” Jack’s eyes snap over to Davey, fear dashing across his features. Slowly he settles the brush on the floor and takes the taller man’s hands in his. When Davey pulls away, Jack feels his pulse speed up and his eyebrows crease fearfully in confusion. “No.” Dave’s voice is weaker now, like finding the right words is a task much harder than moving paint cans from one cupboard to another.

Jack watches Davey’s chest rise and fall painfully under the fabric of his shirt. “I can’t do this…” He repeats and unlike the story of true love, Jack wishes that he’d stop singing the same old tune. “Les and I are going back to school.”

“What?!” Jack doesn’t mean to raise his voice. Or to throw David’s hands out of his. But surprise can be a dangerous thing when paired with fear. He stares up at Davey, ignoring the way his heart is pounding in his ears and how cold the blood has run in his veins. “When?!”

“Next week,” David mumbles, hands stuffed into his pockets. He sounds like he’s about to cry and a part of Jack longs to reach out and cup his sides between his hands. But he can’t, so he stands there feeling as lost and unfinished at the backdrop behind him.

“And ya were jus’ gonna not tell me?” he snaps, turning his back on Davey. Arms folded protectively against his chest. He hears Davey sigh behind him, his breathing trembling as if cold.

“Go.”

“W-what?” Davey looks up tearfully, voice trembling.

“Ya heard me! How fuckin’ stupid are ya David?! Go! Scram!”

Jack listens to Davey’s feet disappear. He stands in the silence and dim lights of the theatre for a few moments before rubbing his stained hand across his face before turning back and continuing to paint.

That night he lays alone, listening to the howl of the wind and the sound of his own tears. In front of his blurred eyes, Davey stands heartbroken and lost. He falls asleep and awakens alone.

Maybe that’s all he’s destined to be.

Alone.

**You can have Manhattan**   
**'Cause I can’t have you**

David isn’t sure how he ends up sitting on his fire escape that night with his legs hanging between the gaps in the bars. He holds the letter between both his hands and allows the tears to fall freely down his cheeks. He stares at the sunset, the last few invisible strands of pinks and golden yellows. They colour in the black and whites of the night. With a sigh, Davey looks ashamedly away from the dimmed stars.

He turns the letter around in his hands, searching every folded and creased section for some kind of secret message or hidden surprise. Anything to show that Jack will still be there at work tomorrow, and that their last conversation wasn’t them yelling at each other. When he finds nothing but the words written clear as day on the page, his shoulders sag and a fresh wave of sadness washes over his features.

The moon stares sadly down at him and Davey tries to cling onto the facts that he knows, trying to picture the lines in his textbook, but the paragraphs morph and soon he’s seeing Jack in the moon. He stands, his feet buried in the sand beneath him and he’s turned away. His outline looks calmed, settled as he stares at the last few strands of the setting sun.

They stare at it together with wet eyes, watching as it sets westward over Manhattan.

David’s Manhattan- according to Jack anyway.

Davey doesn’t want Manhattan.

Davey wants Jack.

Right?

A rush of anger pulses through his system; he remembers the way Jack spoke to him the last time they were in the same room together. He remembered the coldness in his voice. The disapproving look in his eyes. Davey feels his hands tighten and soon the letter is nothing more than messy, torn pieces of a boy’s broken heart.

Jack can have Manhattan back.

David doesn’t want it.

And he doesn’t want him.


End file.
